


some say my manners aren't the best

by rorschachs



Category: Deadly Class (TV)
Genre: Coda, Episode: s01e03 Snake Pit, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 14:05:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17829980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rorschachs/pseuds/rorschachs
Summary: “So you want to suck my dick as a revolt against society?”“Fuck society,” Marcus agrees.OrThe rooftop scene during the dance goes a little bit differently.





	some say my manners aren't the best

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by every line of dialogue Marcus has ever said.

Marcus is high. He’s been high for a while, maybe, only he can’t remember when he started smoking. Sometime after he started drinking but before the alcohol really kicked in, in that sweet spot where getting crossfaded seemed like the best idea he’d ever had and his body could take anything.

“Humanity created drugs because we realized we wouldn’t be able to face the reality we’ve built for ourselves sober,” he says, watching the smoke from the blunt spiral above him and twist into a shape that might be a skull. “It’s a natural defense mechanism, the only way to keep us from offing ourselves before we reproduce.”

“I can’t feel my arm,” Billy says. “Wait. No, that’s the cast.”

They’re leaning slumped against each other on the roof, the night sky shimmering above them. Marcus’s head is in Billy’s lap; he doesn’t know when exactly it happened. After Lex left, saying something about fireworks. Probably after they’d finished off the bottle of shitty vodka and switched completely over to weed.

“Society is built off keeping us high,” Marcus continues. “Drugs, sometimes, but everything else too. The media. The commercialization of every fucking part of our lives. Cookie cutter houses and jobs and families to keep us from realizing how totally fucked we are.”

“Do you think Petra is fucking him right now?” Billy asks as he lifts the blunt from Marcus’s fingers. Marcus can feel the rise and fall of his stomach as he takes a hit.

“They’re probably going at it in the middle of the dance floor as we speak,” Marcus agrees.

He’s not sure if he says it to be mean. He can feel the scratchy fabric of Billy’s t-shirt against his cheek, so in tune to the world around him that he’s sure he can pick out each individual thread. He rubs his cheek back and forth against it and marvels at the sensation.

“I just don’t get what she sees in him,” Billy continues. “Is it the accent? I could do an accent if she really wanted it.”

“Maybe he’s just really tall,” Marcus says.

When he speaks, Billy’s t-shirt catches on the edges of his mouth. He opens his mouth a little bit wider, turns his head so that he can feel the texture against his tongue. He can feel Billy’s body heat seeping through his shirt, pleasantly warm against the cool evening air.

“I bet his dick isn’t even that big,” Billy says.

The blunt has burnt down to a roach, and Billy flicks it aside before letting his hand fall. His fingers end up in Marcus’s hair, curled just a bit too tight for it to be accidental.

“She’s seen his dick,” Marcus says. He’s pretty sure this time he means it to be mean. “It must have been big enough for her.”

“Fuck you,” Billy says, but he doesn’t really sound like he means it.

His fingers begin to stroke through Marcus’s curls and Marcus leans further into the sensation, his head slipping down until his mouth catches on the small sliver of skin between Billy’s jeans and his t-shirt. He doesn’t close his mouth.

“He doesn’t appreciate her like I do,” Billy says.

Marcus thinks he can taste Billy’s words through the salty sweat on his skin. He hums a vague agreement to whatever Billy just said and feels the skin jump beneath his mouth.

“Do you think he’s hotter than I am?” Billy asks, voice plaintive.

Marcus opens his eyes. He didn’t realize he’d closed them. It takes him a few seconds to remember to drag them from Billy’s shirt to his face. Billy’s pupils are blown so wide that Marcus can barely see the irises. Are his eyes blue or green or brown? Marcus suddenly can’t remember ever looking at them closely enough to notice.

“Are your eyes blue or green or brown?”

“My eyes? You think it’s my eyes she doesn’t like?”

“I like your eyes.” Marcus can’t remember what they were talking about. “And your hair. It looks soft.”

“Let me guess, you like my mouth, too? Like I haven’t heard that one before.”

Marcus does like Billy’s mouth, but right now it’s curved into a sad frown that doesn’t look right on his face. Or maybe it looks too right, like Billy was born sad and he’s just laughing all the time to cover it up.

“You shouldn’t be sad,” Marcus tells him. He raises a hand to shape Billy’s mouth into the right smile but loses energy hallway through and lets it drop back down to his lap.

“Yeah? Are you gonna cheer me up?”

Billy flashes the open-mouthed grin that he always uses to prove he’s not the one who’s really hurting. He lifts his hips in a half-joking thrust against Marcus’s head, grin fading when Marcus doesn’t pull away like he’s supposed to.

Marcus has done it before. A few times on the street, when his stomach ached so badly he felt like it was caving in on itself and the dumpsters yielded nothing but rotting compost and empty beer cans. Once, before that, at the boys’ home, with an older boy who’d told him he’d beat him up if he ever told anyone about what they did together. This felt more like the first time, even though Marcus doesn’t really think Billy could beat him up.

“I’m not–” Billy’s voice cracks, stops. Marcus lets his eyes close again.

“It won’t make them like you any more,” Billy says. “Running around and telling the whole school that I’m gay, that I– that I let you–”

“It’s not gay to get your dick sucked,” Marcus points out, because he’s had that carefully explained to him several times.

“Are you?” Billy’s fingers are still in Marcus’s hair, tightening and releasing like he’s forgotten they’re there. It still feels nice.

“Society is obsessed with fitting us into neat little boxes because it makes us easier to control,” Marcus says.

“So you want to suck my dick as a revolt against society?”

“Fuck society,” Marcus agrees.

Billy is silent for a few long moments. Marcus doesn’t rush him; he likes this, too, just feeling someone’s body heat and Billy’s shirt against his cheek and Billy’s hand in his hair.

“Fuck society,” Billy says at last, and Marcus smiles against his stomach.

They move like they’re under water, slowly twisting and shifting into a position that works. The world is still spinning lazily around them, but as long as they stick close to the concrete of the roof they’re safe. They end up with Billy leaning against the raised glass skylight, legs sprawled wide with Marcus on his stomach between them, supporting himself on his elbows.

It takes Marcus a while to figure out the button on Billy’s jeans. Billy tries to help, sort of, but ends up getting distracted and running his hands through Marcus’s hair again. Marcus obviously isn’t going to protest, but it makes it a bit hard to remember how zippers work.

He finally succeeds at yanking the jeans open, and Billy lifts his hips to help while Marcus pulls his jeans and boxers halfway down his thighs. Billy is already half-hard but lazy with it, thrusting softly against Marcus when he presses his open mouth against him but not pushing his head down. Marcus takes a moment to breathe him in, dragging his lips against the blood-hot skin and feeling Billy shudder above him.

Marcus goes slow, because he can and his body is still pleasantly buzzing from the weed and vodka and he likes the sounds that Billy makes. He lets saliva gather in his mouth and spill over the edge of his lips, almost sloppy with it, and Billy’s grip on his hair gets tighter and tighter as he hardens fully in Marcus’s mouth.

“You’re good at this,” Billy says, and it sounds more like surprise than actual praise, but Marcus rolls his hips against the concrete beneath him anyway.

Billy begins to thrust as Marcus bobs his head up and down on his cock, still gentle with it, guiding Marcus back and forth with the fingers curled tight in his hair. Marcus lets himself lean into it, let’s Billy control the motion, and focuses on the rare luxury of skin against skin and the throbbing heat between his own legs.

Billy gets louder as he gets closer, punched out grunts and groans that Marcus has never heard him make before, and the movement of his hips begins to lose its rhythm. Marcus shifts so that he’s supporting himself with only one arm, the other reaching between his legs to grind the heel of his palm against his own aching cock.

“Fuck,” Billy gasps, the word sounding so raw it’s barely recognizable, and thrusts once, twice more into Marcus’s mouth before Marcus’s mouth floods with the salty, bitter tang of his cum.

Marcus lets his head fall to the side to rest against Billy’s thigh as he spits onto the concrete, slipping his hand into his own boxers and ignoring the dry catch of his skin as he jerks himself. He opens his mouth against Billy’s thigh, his own breathing loud in his ears, and when he comes he feels his whole body shudder with it.

Marcus lies still for a moment, listening to the thump of his heart and dragging his tongue over his swollen lips. There’s a buzz coming from somewhere far away, and after a while he realizes that Billy has started talking.

“…still doesn’t mean anything. I wear my hair this way because I _like_ it; it’s a _statement_ , and just because we did this doesn’t mean dying your hair is inherently–”

Marcus tunes him out again, dragging his hand out of his pants and wiping it against the concrete. He doesn’t think he’s drunk anymore, but the floating sensation of his high hasn’t left yet and he lets himself drift on that for a while. Eventually Billy shifts to pull his pants and boxers back up, and then they’re back in the position they began in, Marcus’s head still in Billy’s lap.

Marcus is just beginning to fall asleep when the clatter of the door to the rooftop signals the end of their solitude. He doesn’t particularly feel like moving but he can feel the way Billy tenses, so Marcus rolls himself off of him and into a sitting position. Billy is on his feet a second later, already fishing out a lighter and a cigarette and offering both to Marcus.

“I always get so fucking hungry when I’m high,” Billy says, and Marcus hears the plea in his voice. “We should get McDonalds or someone to cater our rooftop moping sessions.”

Billy doesn’t want to talk about what just happened. That’s alright. He’s smiling again, at least, and Marcus is still warm from their shared body heat. Marcus might have told Willie he didn’t want a friend who’s ashamed of him but he can still have this, and for now it’s enough.

“The corporatization of America is why everything is so awful,” Marcus says, and when Billy smiles at him in relieved thanks, Marcus can tell the high is going to last him just a little bit longer.


End file.
